


Adachi and the no good very bad ficlets

by orphan_account



Category: Persona 4
Genre: Gen, all of em are adachi bein angsty as fuck, im not cleaning these up hardly at all sooo, might come back to em, unfinished works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:15:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28647402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A collection of Persona 4 ideas I attempted to write but didn't go anywhere. Featuring Adachi! All from 2017-2018CH1: ??? - Adachi's Shadow comes to visit him.CH2: >.> - The Twins send Adachi back in time against his will.CH3: oh yea - Start of a Role Reversal AU.CH4: or something - Adachi gets thrown back in time and doesn't know how to handle it.
Kudos: 5





	1. ???

**Author's Note:**

> btw if anybody wants these ideas u can take em. all of em i had vague future plans for, but unfortunately i kept those drafts in my brain, and trying to transfer them from there to here would be too troublesome. Chapters named after what I named the wip in my google drive

He couldn't tear his gaze from the mirror. It taunted him, with its waxy pallour and drawn brow. The smile that draped itself so unpleasantly drooped, then faded away. If it felt disappointment, it hid it so carefully that the only change in its blank, dead-eyed stare was a twitch under its left eye.

  
“If you're just going to stare, could you go do it somewhere else? And by somewhere else I mean somewhere  _ away _ from me.”

  
It spoke, but he couldn't hear. Something rattled in his chest, and a stab of something like fear pierced his thoughts. He backed away, almost as if he were asleep.

  
“Oh, c'mon. There's no need for that.” It paused, yellow eyes glittering. “You know you can handle it. So cut the bullshit and suck it up.”   
  
He shook his head, and for a moment it flickered out of his vision, replaced by the familiar and comfortable reflection of his own gangly limbs. But it stepped right back in when he raised his head to peer at it again.   
  
“Why do you keep showing up?” He rasped, groggy from sleep and confusion. “I'm not fucking crazy. I am not. This is not real. You're bullshit.”   
  
The declaration felt solid, but the thing’s eyes made it like paper beneath an elephant.   
  
“If anything,  _ you're _ bullshit. If you're just gonna whine, you can go fuck off to your own little corner.” It sighed, its eyebrows pinching and mouth sneering. “What a fuckin’ pussy. I can't believe I'm $@$/:&>?,#@!×%;;,*(.”   
  
He trembled, tried to block its words. Its face twisted, warped into a surreal reflection of his own, warped into a sneer of rage.   
  
“You're starting to piss me off. Dumbass, don't come out here if all you're gonna do is bitch and moan!” It snarled, and Adachi couldn't stop shuddering, shaking, shivering.   
  
He stood up from where he'd fallen (when had he fallen?), and half stumbled, half sprinted back to the bedroom.

  
It shrieked after him. “You  _ bastard! _ You're gonna fuckin run?! Yeah, you better run! I'm ‘bout sick of this!  _ You're pissing me off!” _   
  
He shut the door with a loud thud, and collapsed on the floor. The thing's words kept echoing, back and forth, like his head was an empty chamber and a gong had been struck.   
  
He wasn't crazy. He wasn't. It would go away. Soon. He knew it would. If it didn't--

If it didn't… 

  
..............   
  
Adachi had been stuck in his apartment for a week, alone, before Doujima bothered with the brat.   
  
It wasn't that he didn't like the kid; hell, if anything he was fond of Adachi. But it was one thing to tolerate and even somewhat like someone and it was another thing entirely to enjoy working with a person. And Adachi just didn't cut the bill.   
  
Maybe he was too harsh on the kid, but Doujima knew when someone was acting like a fool to escape responsibility. He had his own phase, back when he was just a teenager, so he knew what it was like and what it  _ looked _ like. Adachi was trying to play a game with him, and Doujima was not gonna tolerate it.   
  
If the kid was going to act like a rookie, he was gonna be treated like one. It was almost pathetic that a twenty-seven year old, who'd been on the force for almost half a decade, and who'd had multiple recommendations from his old partners, wanted to act like a newbie because he fucked up  _ once.  _ (Granted, of course, Doujima didn't know what Adachi had done, but that didn't excuse him.)   
  
And while others may just withhold judgement, no way in hell was Doujima ever going to let  _ anyone _ , especially his  _ partner, _ get off scot free.   
  
So if the kid was going to play hookie and not even bother calling in, Doujima would let him. When the brat got back, well, he wasn't going to escape the consequences easily.   
  
But by the end of the week, Doujima had lost his patience. It wasn't difficult normally to work on his lonesome - fuck, he had been a loner for the majority of his adult life. It wasn't anything new. However, ‘normally’ wasn't  _ now, _ and working on a homicide case that was slowly going cold by himself was a stress he didn't need.   
  
So on Saturday, he took a day off from work, had breakfast with Nanako and Souji, and drove south to the rudimentary motel Adachi was staying at. The morning was chilly, smelling faintly of salt from a westbound ocean breeze. It wasn't often that the residents of Inaba got to enjoy the ocean, but occasionally the wind graced them with a reminder of the nearby bay. Doujima hated days like these.   
  
The stairs creaked, and the building seemed to tremble. He wondered why Adachi lived here; both of their salaries were enough for a mortgage; hell, Adachi lived by himself, he could afford his own hovel. At least then he wouldn't have to share his walls with anyone.

He knew which room it was because of their frequent bar visits. Adachi always complained about how dirty the place was, and how annoying the room number was. ‘What kinda moron numbers the rooms one through thirteen, but when they get to the fourteenth room they decide, hey, let's just label this room twenty-one! I'm telling ya, Doujima, sir, that it's a load of bullshit.’

He shook the memory away, smiling faintly. If he recalled correctly, that might ended with Doujima dropping the kid off at the motel before lurching home himself. He was lucky he had gone easy that night.

The room door stopped him; it looked almost shiny, with its gaudy red paint and lopsided number plate. He wiggled the bronze plate a bit, giving up when he saw it had been screwed into the wall crookedly.

The door itself was unlocked.

Inside, it looked like daylight hadn't touched the sparse furniture in years; the smell of wet dust and eroding wood assaulted his senses, and he coughed harshly.

A clatter, perhaps from the kitchen, made him walk further into the dark room. Sunlight glinted, and Doujima looked down the adjacent hall in curiosity.

Broken shards of glass littered the carpet, glowing with reflected light. Doujima glanced up, unsurprised to see the frame of a once simple hall mirror.

The same clatter, again, but this time louder. Doujima followed it, and he felt a twinge in his chest as he walked into the kitchenette.

Adachi stood with his back to the detective, watching a kettle on a portable stovetop. An abandoned instant cup of noodles sat on the counter, lid peeled back slightly.

“I should be back for work on Monday.” Adachi didn't turn to him, his voice just barely above a whisper.

“What,” Doujima grit out, “The fuck, Adachi.”

Adachi didn't turn around.

Doujima sighed, the sound a dying hiss between his clenched teeth.

  
  



	2. >.>

If he could squeeze his eyes shut and curse just one more time, he would. As it was, any sudden noises were bound to fuck his chances over.

_ Fuck. Next time I see that long nosed bastard, I’ll sock him right in the eye. Damn the consequences! _

_ If I ever see him again, that is. _

He checked over his shoulder again, watching the lump that lay, still and silent, on the bed. His eyes focused in on the surrounding debris of leftover take out boxes and old beer cans, and he felt a disgusted sneer twist his face. Was he always a slob?

Well, prison sure taught him, didn't it.

_ No, it was best to not think about it. Focus on getting the hell out, and figuring out whatever the fuck was going on. _

He stood up, hoping his creaking, complaining knees wouldn't be too loud. He'd been sitting, crouched, hiding in the bathroom like some dirty rat, watching nervously.

It wasn't like he was confused. Nope, just extremely pissed off. And nervous. Hell, who wouldn't be? If you were offered a get-outta-jail-free card, refused it, and then found out they'd given it to you anyway, you'd be suspicious as hell too, right?

He crept out from his hidey hole. The door was right there. Like it had been for the past hour and a half.

But before he could stop himself, Adachi took a glance back, eyes sliding over the garbage of the cramped apartment. 

_ I fucking knew it. Fuuuuck. _

And with that last, enraged thought in his head, thirty-one year old Adachi Tohru left twenty-seven year old Adachi Tohru, slumbering in his bed.

.

_ What the fuck am I supposed to do now? _

Here's a better question: why the fuck was he here anyway?

Four years in the past, for no reason at all, other than what those two little brats had said and what the old man had sniffled about. But what they had said made no sense.

_ “You are a prisoner to your own conceptions, and the only way out is rehabilitation!” _

_ “We have found your human amenities severely lacking! And so we present you this: our master's powerful deconstructor!” _

What a load of horseshit.

Adachi, no matter how confused or pissed off he was, had also been suppressing a craving for hamburgers - the shitty kind only fast food restaurants could make - and had made off with a skimming of that brat’s (he refused to call that kid him - no way in hell) drinking cash.

So he sat, fuming, crunching his french fries loudly, drumming his fingers on his burger.

He wasn't dressed exactly normally too, so the suspicious and cautious glances some passerby gave were well founded.

_ Jesus, it's like they've never seen a hobo before or something. What stick’s up their ass, I wonder? _

He snorted.  _ Maybe Souji sweet talked them into it. _

At the thought, however, he sombered. He swallowed his fry, and not off a chunk of his burger.

Shit. Was the dumbass even around? Damn, had he even gotten his power yet?

Goddamnit, he barely had patience for reading some shitty time travel novel. He did not deserve this bullshit.

_ What part of “I'll follow the rules,” means I get thrown back in time? Should've read the small print. _

He finished his meal without finesse, tossing the trash away with a grunt.


	3. oh yea

He is standing, just over the hill, eyes glazed. The unlit cigarette is forgotten in his long, stained fingers. He doesn't smoke.

The sunset over Inaba is soft and calm, the great ball of orange fire slowly relaxing into its bed of earth. The car behind him rumbles, and he waves away the exhaust fumes from his face.

With a heavy sigh, Adachi Tohru dropped his useless cigarette to the ground, grinding the trash into the soil with a scuffed shoe. He climbed into his car, and continued his journey.

.

The rain starts suddenly, nearly startling Tohru’s absent thoughts. He sighs, and resists thumping his head against the steering wheel.

He spots the gas station and pulls over. A pleasant surprise; in the boonies, one rarely came across unabandoned pit stops. Tohru does not look a gift horse in the face, however, and is just relieved at being able to stop.

The attendant that approaches his old, rusted clunker of a car is tall, taller than Tohru. She's already sticking the pump in when he climbs out.

“Are you passing through?” Small talk. Wonderful.

“No. Was looking to stay for a bit.” Tohru speaks gruffly; no need for pleasantries.

She smiles. “I suspect you're looking for work, then. There's not much to do in Inaba, but there's always work to be found.”

Tohru raises an eyebrow, faux interest coloring his face.

She finishes with the tank, but does not leave. Still smiling that unearthly smile, she bows gracefully. Tohru shifts his feet, growing uncomfortable.

“Here.” She held out a white card, writing scribbled on the back. “These are places that have been searching for help for awhile.”

God. He couldn't just shirk her good gesture, could he? Damn, what an irritating bitch.

He takes the card, his fingers brushing against her pale knuckles. She smiled again and, with a “good luck!” tossed over her shoulder, leaves.

He sighs heavily, but turns to leave as well. No use staying, after all--

He slips, his head spinning rapidly. His hand clenches the car roof. He can't breathe.

As suddenly as the bout of nausea burst inside of him, however, it leaves. He's left panting, confused and shaken, leaning against the car. His shirt is soaked with cold sweat, and his head buzzed painfully loud.

He shook it off. He couldn't afford to stay out here, in the muggy summer heat. His car had no air conditioning, and the later it got the smaller his chances were for an open room at some inn or motel.

So Tohru ignored the lingering pain in his joints, fought back another wave of cold vertigo as he climbed back into the car, and continued onward.

.

He couldn't afford the bigger bedrooms. To be truthful, he couldn't afford any of the rooms they offered.

But the receptionist took one look at him and called an “exception.” If he paid 30,000 yen a week, he could stay in one of the old servant rooms.


	4. or something

His breath froze in his chest, stuck like a block of ice. Was he shaking? He couldn't quite tell.

Had it really been true, then? It has actually -- but why had he even --

His eyes sped around in his skull, his vision a blur of green-blue, of sky and mountains and of fields. He couldn't quite breathe.

His back ached, pressed as it was against the rust encrusted door of the old pickup truck- the truck he had only just scraped enough money for, that had broken down barely a month into his stay in Inaba.

The truck that he could've sworn he had abandoned to the local landfill, which had been so small that the damned thing hadn't been taken by the collectors for another three months. The truck, which he was now slumped against, that was rumbling, gurgling with the fuel he’d dumped in it not an hour before.

An hour - but he remembered - he remembered… 

So it has been true. That long nosed bastard had been telling the truth, and Adachi had just grinned and agreed. Agreed to some outlandish, idiotic plan, that he had thought was a joke.

He stiffened, and licked his cracked lips carefully.

He looked down the road. If he recalled correctly, he had already visited the gas station with the freaky bitch, and had stopped because his head had --

Shit.  _ Shit _ .

The…  _ Persona… _ was still in his head. It was still in his head, like a slithering, oozing, oily snake, heavy in the back of his brain.


End file.
